Here Comes the Witch (A Paranormal Witch Cozy Mystery): (Main Street Witches #1)

by Ani Gonzalez

  "It's not a big one," Liam noted. "It's similar to the one we found in the inventory room when we renovated the botánica for you. That one wasn't too bad."

  "Ha," Yolanda huffed. "That's because you didn't have to do the bargaining. Keeping that particular spirit happy turned out to be a lot more complicated than I expected." She looked back at the inventory room. "But it's coming along nicely now that we have an understanding."

  Liam had no idea what that meant, so he let it pass. "Good. This one should be a lot easier."

  Yolanda grinned. "I'll send you a bill. This will be expedited service, I presume." She walked to the front door and flipped the Closed sign around. "I'd better go find out what it is."

  Why was she closing up the shop? Oh, that's right. Her last assistant left a few weeks ago to join a vegan coven in Brooklyn and she hadn't found a replacement. That little detail would probably double the price of the cleansing.

  Yolanda took off her apron. "I'll exit through the salon. You two stay here and get acquainted. I expect you have a lot to talk about."

  That's when he noticed the young woman behind the jewelry stands.

  She was tall, with dark eyes, tan skin, and curly black hair with reddish streaks that gave her an artsy air, just like the pictures the private detective had sent him. But the grainy, low-quality pics hadn't done her justice. She was dressed in monochromatic business clothes, but the morning sun came through the window and hit the unruly mass of curls, turning it into a fiery halo. Her eyes, he realized, weren't brown, but a deep golden color that matched the striped stone that hung around her neck. In her floaty, cream-colored blouse, she looked like one of Yolanda's goddess statues.

  Which was oddly appropriate. She was, indeed, his salvation.

  "Ms. Ramos?" he asked, stepping forward and extending his hand. "I'm Liam Hagen, the owner of the Hagen House."

  Her grip was warm and strong. Her hands were callused, as if she did manual work. He'd seen her profession listed as "jewelry designer," but hadn't realized that she actually made her own stuff.

  She built her pieces with her own hands. He liked that.

  She licked her lips nervously, and he was suddenly painfully aware that she had a truly luscious mouth. Very kissable.

  He stopped that thought immediately. He wasn't here to kiss her, at least not...

  This was more complicated than he'd thought.

  "Nice to finally meet you," she said, shaking his hand firmly. "I sent the rest of the documents last night. I hope everything went through."

  Ah, yes, the paperwork. She'd e-mailed him a lot of papers, including birth certificates, baptism records, property records, and, most importantly, immigration papers dating back to the eighteen hundreds. They had everything short of a DNA test.

  This had to work.

  "Yes, I was really impressed with the amount of documentation you had." Her family had moved several times, yet her records were better than his, even though his folks had lived in Banshee Creek for generations.

  Actually, he was impressed with her, period. He'd been a bit nervous about the plan, but this self-assured woman—poised and perfectly dressed for the occasion—assuaged his worries. She appeared to be the perfect business partner for this eccentric enterprise.

  She smiled. "My grandmother was really into genealogy, and her Ancestry.com addiction was pretty epic. She even went to the local Knights of Columbus office and dug into their archives. I think she got a kick from having Italian ancestry. She said it explained both her fondness for pizza and her killer meatballs."

  "Her hobby turned out to be a great help." He was certainly grateful, for it had saved him a lot of time.

  She laughed, a merry, tinkling sound, much like the sound of Yolanda's wind chime. He liked her laughter. It made him feel good.

  "That's easy for you to say. You didn't spend your childhood in dingy church basements looking through old papers."

  True, but he'd spent the last couple of months doing exactly that. That's how he'd tracked her down. He'd dug up some records, found some names and birthdates, and even hired a private detective. It was a difficult process, but he'd eventually found her. Now, hopefully, all that effort would pay off.

  In spades.

  "Some of the stories were interesting," she went on, and he quickly realized that the chattiness was an attempt to cover up her nerves. It was an endearing trait.

  "Especially the ones about the Santellis," she continued. "There were business scams, love affairs, vendettas, and even bloodshed. The New York branch of the family was very, er, colorful and somewhat tragic."

  That was putting it mildly. The Santellis were charlatans and swindlers who sold phony potions and remedies to gullible customers. The New York branch had Mafia connections and a tortured history with law enforcement that included fraud charges, bootlegging, and contraband. The Banshee Creek branch was not far behind, he thought bitterly. It was just a different type of tragedy.

  One with long-lived consequences.

  "I loved hearing those stories," she finished with a sigh. "They were so exciting."

  An image popped into his head. A little girl with dark curly hair stuck in a dusty file room, dreaming up thrilling stories. It was hard to reconcile that vision with the businesslike creature standing before him.

  Not for the first time, he wondered why she was doing this. He'd assumed it was the money, but maybe it was more than that.

  "Well," he replied. "I'm glad you like excitement. The Hagen House can definitely deliver on that."

  A concerned look crept over her face. "Is it really that bad? I read the stories, of course, but they're pretty old. Surely, they're exaggerations."

  He'd been expecting the question, but he still hadn't come up with a reassuring answer. How could he explain his ancestral home?

  "It's a beautiful house," he said, "with a lot of history, some of it not too pleasant."

  Particularly, he suddenly realized, regarding the Santelli family. He was suddenly assailed by feelings of doubt. The last Santelli woman who walked into the house...

  He dismissed the thought. For all of the house's supernatural reputation, he'd seen no hostile manifestations since he'd owned it. He'd walked every hallway, traversed every room. Sure, there'd been a couple of accidents, the kind that plagued pretty much every house in Banshee Creek, but that was all.

  And Kat Ramos didn't look like a woman who would be intimidated by a house, no matter how haunted.

  He took a deep breath. "And speaking of excitement..."

  He looked deep into her amber-flecked eyes. She was perfectly still, as if she were holding her breath.

  "Shall we go get married now?"

  CHAPTER THREE

  THIS WAS so not the wedding of her dreams.

  The Banshee Creek Town Hall was a small, unassuming Colonial building in the center of town, right next to the library. The plain exterior had red brick, white moldings, and sturdy wood doors. The interior was also simple, with gleaming wood floors, brass lamps, and black and white photographs on the walls. Unlike the rest of the town, the Town Hall didn't have any kitschy ghost stuff, just a grandfather clock and a couple of old oil paintings of the stern-looking town founders. Their perpetually sour expressions seemed to indicate that they did not much approve of the goings on in their town.

  Including, Kat surmised, her own wedding.

  The ceremony would take place in the hearing room, but they now stood in the reception area, waiting their turn. It turned out they weren't the only ones getting married.

  She leaned to whisper to Liam, "There's a line?"

  That was a mistake, as she was suddenly keenly aware of his nearness. He was dressed in a handsome sports coat and dark pants, which she guessed was what passed for wedding casual in Virginia. He was big and tall and male and smelled of old-fashioned aftershave.

  She'd researched Liam before coming here, of course, and the website for Hagen Design and Build had a picture of him standing next to a gran
diose Victorian house. The picture showed a fit, muscular man—he had the build of his Irish ancestors, big and thick—with reddish hair and a serious air.

  She hadn't expected clear green eyes that seemed to bore right into her soul and a smile that could make women melt. It was disorienting.

  "Sorry," he whispered back. "The judge is only here on Mondays, so the weddings get a bit backed up."

  She scanned the room. There were three other couples in the reception area. One couple wore distressed jeans paired with t-shirts that read "I'm With Spooky" with arrows pointing to each other. Another couple was dressed as vampires and they seemed to be sparkling? The third pair was dressed normally, but were carrying vintage hockey masks and butcher knives decorated with fake blood.

  What was this, Vampire Vegas?

  "Do you know any of these people?" she asked, wondering if these were her future neighbors.

  According to the terms of their agreement, she would have to spend a whole year in Banshee Creek. Seeing as her opportunities in New York City were kind of limited, she hadn't thought of that as a big hardship.

  But maybe she'd been wrong. This wasn't exactly the kind of small town Americana she'd been expecting.

  "No, they're all from out of town," Liam replied, frowning at the visitors. "Apparently our little paranormal hamlet is becoming a popular wedding destination."

  "We certainly are," a booming voice rang from behind them. "After all, who wouldn't want to get married in the Most Haunted Town in America?"

  Many, many of people, Kat thought, turning toward the speaker. She didn't say it out loud, though. The tall, muscled man with the red beard and the biker's vest likely wouldn't appreciate a snarky response.

  "Most everyone, I would think, Caine," Liam replied with a smile.

  Kat tensed. This Caine person looked rather threatening. Why was Liam cracking jokes?

  But the biker just laughed, a loud sound that filled the room, causing the other couples to turn and stare.

  "Fair to say." Caine's bright blue eyes twinkled with merriment. "But that still leaves us with enough interested customers that it makes sense to remodel the judge's chambers. Is that what you're here for?" He scanned the room. "Look, I know the Historical Preservation Committee won't let them expand, but they could get a nice-sized room if they took down that wall and joined the reception area to the chambers." He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "The old stained windows are in storage, and they could be restored and put back. That would give the place some character." He frowned at the oil painting. "This decor is too mundane for a ghost town."

  He kept on talking, displaying an impressively thorough understanding of Colonial-era wood crafting for a motorcycle gang member. Kat glanced at Liam. Caine appeared to be his friend; would he explain their situation?

  "I'm not here to remodel Town Hall, Caine." Liam took a breath, then continued, "I'm here to get married."

  Caine paused. He stared at Liam, then turned to look at Kat.

  "Hi." She waved. "I'm Katalina Ramos, but please call me Kat."

  Caine frowned as if trying to place her.

  It didn't take long for Caine to put two and two together. His eyes widened as understanding dawned.

  He grabbed Liam's arm. "You're doing it? You're actually doing it?" He paused to savor the words. "You're breaking the curse."

  Liam nodded, looking uncomfortable. Kat shared the sentiment. It sounded so melodramatic when put that way, but really it was a straightforward financial transaction. She married Liam, breaking the dreaded Santelli curse that rendered his house unsellable. He sold the now officially curse-free abode, and they shared the profits. Afterwards, they got a quiet divorce and resumed their lives, which, in Kat's case, meant a glamorous—in a modern, minimal way—jewelry store in Soho.

  Easy peasy.

  She cleared her throat. "We're doing it. Together."

  She didn't want any misunderstanding. After all, she had plans for the Hagen House money.

  "That's fantastic," Caine replied, practically jumping up and down with excitement. "You're going to let us tape it, right? It's perfect for our show. We should be able to get a couple of days of content out of this. After all, people love all things bridal..." He looked at Kat's outfit, glanced around the room, and frowned. "Wait, you're doing it right now?"

  Liam sighed. "We didn't want to make a fuss."

  Kat cast a wary glance at the big biker. What did he mean "tape it?" Liam had told her the marriage would have to be publicized—people had to know that the curse was broken so they could sell the house—but she'd expected a picture in a newspaper and maybe a short interview. She hadn't expected a full-fledged TV show, and the prospect made her nervous. She was a jewelry designer, not an actress or spokesperson.

  Caine made a face. "A fuss?" He adopted a mocking tone. "It's only the biggest curse in Banshee Creek. Why would we make a big deal about that?"

  "It's only a business arrangement," Liam countered. "Practically a technicality. There won't be anything spooky at all."

  Kat was starting to have doubts about that. Her deal with Liam was strictly business, but the botánica had been kind of intimidating in a not-creepy-but-still-kinda-magical way.

  "Aren't you missing..." Caine's voice trailed off as Liam glared at him.

  "She can't make it," Liam said, clearly displeased. "She's busy."

  "You still need some pictures." Caine said stubbornly. "That way people will know that you did it for real."

  "What, the marriage certificate isn't convincing enough?" Kat muttered.

  Caine heard her and smiled, nudging Liam in the ribs. "I like her. She's got spunk." He took out his cellphone. "Don't worry. I'll get you a camera crew."

  Liam tensed. "Thanks, but we don't need—"

  Caine raised his hand. "No need to thank me. Always happy to help out a friend."

  Liam looked alarmed.

  Caine didn't notice his friend's distress. He gave a regretful sigh. "I'd stick around, but I have to get to the bursar's office and pay some fines. They won't give us back Rusty until I do. Something about letting dangerous predators loose in town."

  Kat glanced at Caine warily, images of rabid pit bulls with a taste for human flesh popping into her head.

  Caine shook his head in disbelief. "As if our little rustbucket would hurt anyone."

  He waved goodbye and exited the room, leaving confusion in his wake.

  "Don't worry." Liam gave her arm a reassuring pat. "Rusty is just an owl. He's totally," he paused, "well, mostly harmless."

  "I wasn't worried about the animal," she replied. "I was worried about the cameras. Is he really a filmmaker?"

  "No," he said, snorting. "PRoVE has a YouTube channel and serious delusions of grandeur."

  "Who?"

  Liam rolled his eyes. "It stands for Paranormal Research of Virginia Enterprises. It's our local ghost hunting group."

  Ah, yes, she'd watched one of their ghost hunting shows as part of her research. It had featured people in black SWAT gear, night-vision equipment, and, if she recalled correctly, cameras.

  Lots of cameras.

  She tried to contain a shudder. She could deal with a haunted house, but video cameras? That was a different story. What in the world had she gotten into? She'd wanted to make enough money to open her own jewelry store. She hadn't intended to appear in a paranormal TV show.

  "Look," Liam nodded toward the vampire couple, who were entering the room where the ceremonies were to be held, "the line is moving pretty fast. We should be done before the PRoVE guys get here."

  However, a second later, the door to the reception room opened with a bang. A motley crew of young men and women dressed in black and purple burst into the room. They all wore a yellow logo depicting an all-seeing eye inside a circle, and they all looked happy and excited.

  "Did someone say curse-killing wedding?" a high-pitched voice trilled, as black-clad staffers wheeled cameras and film equipment into the room.

  Li
am groaned.

  Kat watched as a lithe young woman pushed a metal wardrobe into the room. "They sure work fast."

  Liam grimaced. "Oh, you have no idea."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  KAT WASN'T just beautiful. She was also a good sport.

  The waiting room had been turned into an impromptu dressing-room-slash-television-studio, complete with a makeup team, camera crew, and prop station. A young woman dressed in a bright purple corset and leather pants was fixing Kat's hair. Actually, maybe "fixing" wasn't the right word. The stylist was attaching a cream-colored feathery decoration—a fascinator, she called it—to Kat's curly locks. The thing looked like a mutant arachnid, but it matched the eccentric lace-festooned bouquet that his bride-to-be would carry down the aisle. He wasn't familiar with current bridal trends, but he was fairly certain that pentagrams and Egyptian ankhs weren't in fashion.

  At least outside Banshee Creek.

  But Kat looked gorgeous, not to mention calm, which was quite an achievement. He'd wanted to avoid precisely this type of scenario. His goal had been to introduce Kat to Banshee Creek slowly. His hometown could get kind of crazy, and the prospect of ending the most notorious curse in town would amplify the nuttiness.

  Yet his bride seemed to be handling it just fine. Maybe, just maybe, this loony scheme would work after all. Unfortunately, time was running out. He wanted to get this done quickly, before, well, before something derailed them.

  Or someone.

  He glanced at the grandfather clock. He'd thought he had plenty of time, but he hadn't expected a PRoVE invasion. The paranormies wouldn't keep news this big to themselves. They were probably spreading word of the wedding throughout the town.

  That was extremely worrisome.

  "Everyone knows about the Hagen curse."

  Liam turned toward the voice. It was the male half of the newly-married vampiric couple, who were being interviewed by a young man with bright green hair that matched his spectacles.

  "Five deaths, two of them suicides. A millionaire's lost fortune. Myriad accidents," The vampiress stated with relish. "It's fantastic."